NYPD SOS
by Jesse Wales
Summary: The Santa Barbara has a major serial killer on the loose and they need the help of NYPD's best team. They're in for a huge surprise.
1. Prolouge

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

Everyone froze.

"You sir, are always down-grading me! I work my butt off for this station, and all I get from you is insults and mockery. I solve case after case, and you still try to convince them not to hire me! When have I ever been wrong?"

"Now Spencer…," Lassiter said trying to calm the fuming psychic, even though his words rang true.

"What? Are you going to take another jab at me?"

'Mr. Spencer that is enough!" exclaimed the Chief.

Shawn rounded on her.

"And you _Chief Vick!_ I have to all but beg on my knees to get a case and I have a 100% success rate. Doesn't that mean anything? You say you don't need me on a case, yet I solve it faster than any of your detectives would have. Sometimes, I wonder why I … I helped get back your… your… your, oh forget it!"

"You helped get back my what?" the Chief asked curiously.

"Your… your JOB back. Okay!"

Everyone was shell-shocked. How can you say that to the Chief?

"Did any of you stop to think that maybe I knew Janice Alvi? She was like an aunt to me," Shawn said, on the verge of tears.

The occupants of the station were guilty. They forgot Shawn use to come here as a child. Of course, he'll know Janice, the sister of the retired officer, Officer Raymond Alvi.

"I came here to tell who the killer was, but all of you except Buzz McNab blew me off and said I was wasting your time and being a nuisance. I thought we were all comrades. Now, I know how you really feel about me, the nuisance and the bother."

"You want your murderer! Here!"

He threw down the file. He had tears running down his face and he was sniffling. All could see he was only slightly angry. He was mourning. He wiped his face and straightened his composure. The frown and glare returned. He spun around and marched to the door, angry yet again.

"This will be the last case I will ever do for Santa Barbara Police Department if I have a say in it."

He reached the door and would have swung it open if not for the gentle hand on his shoulder stopping him from doing so. He turned. It was Juliet.

"What about me? What did I do wrong? I know I did something," she said, looking sad.

"You… you looked so over-worked and sad, I… I couldn't stand it. I was trying to cheer you up, like I always try to do. But all you… you did was brush me aside. It hurt me. And not just that, there's more. You broke my heart over and over again, every time you dated different guys, but never me. I knew you for 4 years. Even though it pained me greatly to see you with them, I didn't intervene too much because I wanted you to be happy. I always wanted you to be happy. Who am I to stand in the way of you enjoying the rest of your life with someone you love? I just want you to know I never in my whole life met any girl as beautiful and intelligent and able to come up with such great comebacks like you Juliet O'Hara. I ask this one thing: Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe I... I…"

Not knowing what else to say, he grabbed her and pulled her into a kiss. She was shocked and stood there with a surprised look on her face, but eventually her face relaxed, her eyes closed, and her arms wrapped around him automatically. Their kiss grew deeper and more passionate. The world around them disappeared. They finally stopped only because they ran out of air.

Shawn leaned his forehead over, resting his against hers. He had her hands clasped in his resting against his chest, over his heart. A sign for my heart is yours.

"…might love you, Juliet?" he finished lamely with a goofy, lopsided grin gracing his face.

The dream-like state they were in came crashing down when someone cleared his throat. _It was probably Lassiter._ They suddenly became aware of the open stares, protective frowns (Lassiter again), raised eyebrows, and satisfied smirks.

"Good-bye, Juliet," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, making her shiver slightly and make a small audible purr.

He ran out the door into the night.

The station stood in stunned silence and Juliet had a dreamy look on her face. The silence was shattered by the phone ringing. McNab answered it. After a short moment of listening, he put it on speaker. Shawn's voice rang out.

"Oh by the way, I made a rhyme for you when I was heading out the door.

A lie once formed.

A culprit uncaught.

For that is what I am,

But a psychic I am NOT!"

He hung up. The sudden silence rang through the place. Everyone was yet again shocked. They knew they should be in action, trying to find Shawn and arrest him for lying to the station and posing as a psychic consultant. But it seemed that no one could make themselves move, not even Lassiter. It just dawned on them that they might never see their psychic, no pseudo psychic, again.


	2. Chap 1: Meeting the Team Except Nathalie

Chapter 1: Surprise, Surprise

4 Years Later – June 20, 2014

SBPD

"Hello, detectives. I know you have been working hard on the Scorpio case. I have good news and bad news. Well, sort of. The bad news is that the Scorpio hit New York first."

'Wait, does that mean we have to g…," interrupted Lassiter.

"No, you don't have to go all the way to New York. That's part of the good news. The NYPD is sending us their best team."

"Excuse me Chief, do you know how many are in their team and their names?" asked Juliet.

"I think there are four of them, but I do not know their names. You'll have the chance to meet them in two days time. You are dismissed!"

NYPD

"Hey WB, guess what? We have a new case which is kind of old."

"Can you elaborate? What you are saying makes no sense."

"What I mean is, it's new for us, but it is considered old because it is a former cold case," said Dean, bouncing on the balls of his feet, filled with hardly contained and concealed excitement.

"What's it about?" asked WB.

He suddenly starts backing up, waving his hands in front of himself.

"Nope! No way! Not going to happen!" exclaimed Dean. "I promised not to tell you any of the details. It's payback for the last stunt you pulled."

"Oh, come on! I didn't know he had a gun!"

"You don't approach a suspect without back-up! Everybody knows that! Good thing we followed you. You're lucky no one got hurt."

"So, you're not going to tell me anything?"

"I can tell you we are going to a different state. That's all you get to know until we arrive."

"What's going to stop me from seeing what plane we're boarding at the airport?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. We have that covered."

"Wait! What does that mean?" WB yelled, but Dean was already jogging away.

WB glared at his retreating figure. He went in search of Patrick. _Maybe he'll tell me what I want to know._

WB spotted him quickly. He was over by his desk, talking to the Chief. He walked over.

"Hey Junior! How are you doing?" asked the Chief.

"I'm doing great Chief Howie!"

"Good," said Chief, smiling at his nickname. His real name was Howard Johnson. Only WB was brave enough to call him, "Howie."

"Hi Wonder Boy!" said Patrick.

WB was not initials. They stood for his nickname Wonder Boy. He acquired this name because he was one of their greatest detectives.

"What's up?" asked WB.

"Nothing, I can't wait until we leave for the case."

"About that, what is the case really about? Also, where is it located?"

"Sorry, can't answer any of that! We all promised not to tell you anything."

"It was Nathalie's idea, wasn't it?"

The Chief cleared his throat.

"Actually Junior, it was mine," he said.

"Why, Chief?" asked WB, whining pitifully.

"I thought I should try to teach you a lesson."

"Please, like that will help," he said, under his breath.

Out loud, he said:

"Can I at least know where we are going?"

"No Junior, you can't."

"Oh, come on," he whined.

"Nope!"

"What about all the things I need, the things I see, and the things I hear that will lead to me figuring out our location?"

"Nathalie bought you new clothes because we all know you will notice what clothes are missing if we packed yours. You won't see the clothes, so you won't know what the weather's like."

"What will I wear then?"

"All of you are wearing your suits. You can casual out later. Also, the seeing and hearing part is already covered."

"Now, about that…," he started.

"You'll find out soon enough. For now, finish up any paperwork you have."

"No paperwork, anything but that. Don't make me do it, I'll do anything," he begged.

"It's either that or patting down a drug addict they just brought in."

"Paperwork, here I come!"

"Great! You have tomorrow off, to prepare for your trip. You and the rest of the team will meet at the station at 7. Plane leaves at 8."

"Thanks Chief!"

"You're welcome."

"I'll leave in about an hour."

"Well, have a great day, and Patrick, everything I said to Junior, applies to you too."

"Okay Chief," Patrick replied.

"See you guys, and remember paperwork," Chief Howie said, with that he left and entered his office, closing the door behind him.

"I've got to go and do _my_ paperwork. I want to have as much of this day to my self as I possibly can."

"I agree with you."

They went to their own desks and worked. And they worked _hard_.

The team left one by one, when they finished their individual work and went to their separate homes.


	3. Chap 2: Spot On Guesses and Confessions

AN: I will like to do a SHOUT OUT to a special reviewer who gave me the motivation to update. A round of applause for SylverSpyder! And thank you to all my other reviewers: The Booknerds, Pineapple2daMAX, YAOlfangirl1996, and islashlove!

Chapter 2: Relaxation, Reflexes, and Rightness

June 21, 2014

WB's Apartment- His day off!

WB awakened and freshened up. He ate eggs and turkey bacon. He brushed his teeth and put on some fresh workout clothes.

He jogged to the Department. That was about 5 miles from his house. He stopped and sat on the steps to rest. He took a swig of water. Some fellow guys and gals in blue were walking up and down the steps. He greeted them all with friendly nods.

He saw a group of hot girls walking by. He stood up, pretending not be exhausted. WB winked at them with a smile. They walked by giggling, whispering to each other, and sneaking glances at him. If he caught a girl's eye, she giggled harder.

He caught snippets of their whispered conversations, words like "hot", "cute", "cop", "great hair", and "muscular".

He grinned. The girls gasped and giggled harder. They walked away, still glancing back at him.

As soon as they were out of sight, he puffed out and started panting. He rested for about 3 more minutes and drank more water. He stretched a little bit and jogged home. He was sweating like crazy, so he showered and put on some fresh clothes.

He grabbed a soda. He sat down and switched on the TV. WB browsed and stepped on the channel playing "COPS". After it was done, a show about an ex-detective who seemed to have a disorder involving being very neat and having everything straight, probably OCD. He also keeps asking for wipes. WB glanced at his watch. It was 11:30 a.m. It was still early.

He pulled out his phone and called his team. He chose conference call.

"Hey guys! Do you want to come over?"

"Sure," said Patrick.

"You bet!" exclaimed Dean.

"I'll love to," replied Nathalie.

"I'm going to get pizza and drinks."

"Make sure it's Hawaiian," said Dean.

"Oh course. I'll never forget pineapple."

They were probably the most hyper, pineapple-loving, good-looking, intelligent, and effective detective team out there.

"I'll drive Dean and Patrick. We'll pick you at the pizza shop."

"Great!" He hung up.

WB walked to the pizza shop two blocks away and ordered three large boxes of Hawaiian and two 6-packs of soda. He balanced everything in his arms. He happened to walk by a contest jar. He stopped to look at it.

His friends stopped outside of the shop. They climbed out and walked over to him. They too stopped to look at the "Guess How Many Marbles" stand. The man behind the table with the marbles shifted.

"Are any going to try and guess the amount of marbles? If you win, you get two months worth of medium pizzas, with any topping."

The team looked at each other.

"347 marbles,: they said at the same time, keeping serious faces.

The man looked shell-shocked. He looked in his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, and he read it.

"But..but that's exactly right!"

It was getting harder to keep from laughing.

"You… you each get about 60 boxes pizza."

He handed them each a coupon.

"You can pick up one any time you like. Just make sure you show them this and have them stamp it."

"Thank you," they said.

They put the pizzas and sods in the back, and climbed into Nathalie's 1987 Blue Convertible.

They couldn't hold it in anymore. They burst out into laughter. The man was still looking at them.

"Why do we always do that?" asked WB. "It freaks people out."

"It is fun," said Nathalie.

"Oh course you'll think it is funny, Natalia."

"It's Nathalie."

"Sure it is."

She sighed, letting the topic go.

"At least we got two months worth of free pizza!" said Patrick.

They arrived at WB's apartment within minutes, they climbed out. Dean was balancing the pizzas on his head and Patrick was juggling the 12 sodas. Their team had many skills.

WB unlocked the lobby door. They took the elevator to the 3rd floor, and WB opened the door to the apartment 3H. Dean took the pizzas off his head and put them on the kitchen counter. Nathalie sat on a chair at the table and pulled out a book. Patrick stopped juggling and caught them: 1 in each hand, 4 on both arms, one on his head, and one on his foot that was raised in the air. It looked like he was trying to do some Eagle Karate Pose.

"Maybe I should put them down to fizzle out," he said.

He hopped over to the fridge. He put the ones in his hands inside, and then he started to flip the others into his hands. It was mesmerizing. He only hand the one on his foot left. He kicked it up. Patrick miscalculated the kick and it went flying over his head, spinning toward Nathalie, who was currently reading Pride and Prejudice.

"Natalia, watch out f…!" WB started to yell, but Nathalie's hand was already shooting out. She grabbed the can out of the air, not once glancing up from her book. He popped it open slowly and took a sip.

The boys gaped.

"May I help you?" asked Nathalie, still reading.

The boys just shook their heads in wonder. Nathalie never ceased to amaze them.

WB started sharing out the pizzas.

"Hey Natalia! Do you want 3 slices?"

"It's Nathalie! And yes I would!"

"Okay Natalia!"

He served all of them. They gathered around the TV, with soda and pizza. They sat there watching CSI. Dean made some obscure '80s reference, and they burst out laughing. Nathalie snorted and soda came out of her nose. That brought on more gales of laughter. Sometime ago, Patrick went and brought out some beer. They soon became slightly drunk.

"Soo Nathalie, wha' do 'ou like in a guy?" asked Dean.

"Wha' kind ov question iss that?" she asked.

"It's a sssimple un! Just anwsa it, Nats," said Patrick.

"Wellll, like guys 'ho are in'ellegent, funny, an' cute."

"Awl ov us arr like that, Natalia," slurred WB.

"I know! 'E 'as to like 'ineapples like us too."

"Niiiccceee," said Dean.

"Sooo, awl ov us arr accepabul," said WB.

"Ya, I gess 'ou ar! But 'ou can't date cowoukas."

"I kno' that! Eny whay, yu ar like a sista to me."

There was a pause.

"Yu kno' nun ov us can't drive 'ome. We're to 'runk," said Dean.

"I touk va libetty to buy awl ov us new clothes," said Nathalie, looking proud.

"Great! I kne' we 'ould on 'ou, Nats," said Patrick.

They chatted for a while. They asked each other what they want in a person. Nathalie was the first to pass out. Patrick and Dean followed closely behind. WB stumbled to his closet and pulled out 3 blankets. He draped them on his companions, and then went to his bedroom. He fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	4. Chap 3: Is This Necessary?

Disclaimer:

Shawn: I was reading this story myself. It doesn't pizzazz.

A/N: Okay, if you haven't already guessed that WB is Shawn, I'm scared for you and I know a great doctor that carries a HUGE needle just for you.

Chapter 3: Plane Tickets and Drowsiness and Shocking Surprises

June 22, 2014

Random POV

They woke up at 5:45, due to Dean's phone singing out "Hamster Dance." They hadn't consumed enough beer to have a hangover, though they did have a slight headache. They had breakfast and then got dressed. They dressed in their business suits. Dean had a black suit with a crisp, silk purple shirt; Patrick owned a medium-brown suit with a white, cotton shirt, Shawn also wore a black suit with a shiny, silk, green shirt, and Nathalie wore a white dress shirt made of polyester and cotton, a black suit jacket, and a knee-length black skirt. They all sported a pair of sneakers. They _completely, absolutely_ refused to wear formal shoe ware. It wasn't good to run, dance, chase, hop, spin, bounce, or even comfortable enough to wear.

It was also a tradition to wear something related to pineapples. It was said they _loved_ pineapple.

Shawn had a pineapple-patterned tie not at all clashing with his green shirt, Dean wore a golden watch with a pineapple on the face and green dials, Patrick had a green and yellow belt connected by two golden pineapple clasps, and Nathalie wore a pineapple necklace on a golden chain with a pair of matching pineapple earrings. Before they left Shawn took time to sculpt his hair to perfection and added some gel. It had changed over time due to his interests. It is always slicked back and curled with gel and it had a small white streak on the left side. It gave him the sophisticated, maybe evil or rich look. He smirked. He grabbed his brief case and threw it in the truck with the other bags.

They left around 6:35. They arrived at the station at 6:47 and walked inside. Shawn spotted the Chief first.

"Hi Chief Howie!" shouted WB, across the room.

"Hello Junior. Love the tie. How are you on this fine morning?" replied Chief Howie.

"Great, thanks! I love you hair today, not to stiff with a slight ruffle!" he shouted, running over.

"Thank you, but it will never beat yours."

Shawn beamed. His eyes were glistening with excitement and he looked refreshed and energized. The others envied him because no matter what, he still looked like he just woke up from a yearlong sleep. The others had small bags and loose cow-licks but not him.

"Excuse me Chief. I thought to inform you that we are ready and raring to go," said Patrick.

"Yah! We all packed, rested, and looking forward to the day!" exclaimed Dean, bouncing.

"Okay then, here are you tickets," said the Chief.

He handed one to Patrick and Dean, who took them politely. Nathalie received two tickets which she pocketed instantly. Shawn waited for his, hand outstretched. When the Chief just looked at it, he grew confused.

"Where's my ticket?" he asked.

"Nathalie has it," Chief said calmly.

"Why?" he asked, hands now in his pockets, stance leaned back, and eyebrows raised high.

Chief Howard sighed, rubbing his eyes. He looked up at Shawn.

"Junior, for someone who claims of possessing an eidetic memory, you seem to forget things quite easily. Remember we told you that you can't know where you're going. It should put you out of your comfort zone and maybe next time you'll think before you act."

"You can't be serious. Don't you think this is a little extreme?"

"Not yet it is," mumbled Dean, who received a slap to the back of the head.

They ignored his yelp of pain.

"Oh course I was serious. It's about time you were taught a lesson. You're always so _prepared, in control, everything is mapped out_," the Chief said, making hand quotes. "So you disregard protocol and do something reckless. And when you do something reckless, you face the consequences. This should put you in a position where everything isn't so under your control and maybe then you will think because I know you're a genius with a completely functional brain. You just need to learn to use it."

"I still don't…"

Dean must have found his shoes oddly fascinating by the way he was staring at them. Patrick walked off, not wanting to be caught up in the argument he knew was brewing under the surface. But Nathalie was having none of it.

"Shut UP! Shawn just… shut… up. This is for your own good. I don't want to hear any more complaints or God so help me, I…" she took a deep breath to calm herself and let it out slowly. "Just suck it up and let's go. We have a plane to catch and we can't afford to be late and miss it. Let's go. Bye Chief Howard, call you when we reach."

And with that, she grabbed Shawn's elbow and dragged him toward the door, calling Patrick and Dean over her shoulder. After parking the car into the police station lot, they transferred their bags to the trunk of a taxi they had waved down. Natalie climbed into the passenger, leaving the boys to squeeze in the back seat. The driver put the pedal to the metal and with tires squealing, the car roared off down the road. They were on their way.

**Airport**

The taxi dropped them off at 7:21. Their plane was to leave at 7:30 so they were early and had 9 minutes to spare. They were waiting in line to get through the security check. When everyone was through, they moved to the security check-out. After finally managing to convince the security guards on letting them carry their guns with them involving much persuasion, they made it to the waiting/ boarding lounge. Shawn flopped down into one of the chairs and closed his eyes, thinking.

_I would be able to find out where we are going as soon as they announce our flight and we board._

Shawn felt something go over his eyes and tighten on the back of his head. He opened his eyes, he say nothing. Reaching a hand up to take the thing off, he had his hand slapped away. He tried again ending up with the same result as before.

"What is going on?" he asked hysterically, trying to get that thing blocking his vision off.

"Calm down Spence," said Patrick.

"What are you guys doing?"

"Putting non-see-through lens glasses on you," answered Dean.

"Why?" Shawn asked, bewildered, trying to take the glasses off again.

"This is all part of Chief Howard's idea," Nathalie slapped Shawn's hand again.

He looked at her, or at least tried to. He settled for guessing her location based off where the offending hand kept attacking him from.

"Come on Natalia! Don't you think this is a little extreme or maybe extremely extreme?"

"Nope!" she said, popping her p. "And it's Nathalie. Say it right or don't say it at all."

She pulled out of black earmuffs that looked like the over-sized headphones that computer techs wear. She popped them onto his ears, blocking all sounds but his own labored breathing in his head.

"Oh come on, Nats!"

They said didn't say anything or maybe they did, but Shawn couldn't hear a thing. He did fell three sets of hands, two one each shoulder and one on his back, and he was led to the terminal.

They went through the ticket check and finally boarded the plane. Shawn was led to a seat that was next to Nathalie's and he tried to get comfortable. Shortly after succeeding, he felt a cool, sweating glass pressed into his empty hand. Shawn tentatively brought it to his mouth and took a sip. Welcoming the sweet taste as what obviously was lemonade, he drank his slowly, enjoying the sweet, tangy taste. After finishing the drink, he leaned back and yawned.

_At least I will be able to estimate the length of the ride _*yawn* _estimate… estimate _*yawn* _the time it… it takes,_ thought Shawn.

He yawned again and his eyelids suddenly felt like they weighed 100 pounds.

_Why am I so… so tired? I had_ *yawn* _a full night of _*yawn* _sleep. The only way I could feel is if… _*yawn*

Shawn blinked slowly and yawned again.

… _if I was… no they wouldn't… would they? No, they… they wouldn't… they…_

Shawn eyes closed, his head resting against the window, and he started to snore, a little whistle with each exhale. Nathalie glanced over and smiled. She pushed a lock of stray hair and went back to her reading.

Many Hours Later

The plane soon landed and Patrick was the only one still awake. He had the habit of being alert at all times when in unfamiliar places or circumstances. Since he had a window seat and Dean blocked his way to the aisle, he nudged him and Dean woke up with a gasp.

"Are you okay?" Patrick asked concerned.

"Yes," Dean answered. "I was just having this epic dream."

Dean glanced around and realized the plane wasn't moving and people were getting up around them.

"We're here?"

"Yes. Can you wake Nats and WB?"

"Okay."

Dean stood and stretch. He heard his shoulder popped and he winced. Next time, he is bringing a pillow for his head instead of settling for his arm. Ignoring his sore, stiff, and aching shoulder and the momentary dizziness from standing too up fast, he entered the aisle and walked five rows up. There slept Nathalie and Shawn, the former leaning on the latter's shoulder drooling. Said latter had his arm around former's shoulder protectively. He snickered and pulled his phone out, taking three pictures for future "reference." He studied them and felt slight guilt and reluctance at waking them up and ruining such a cute, peaceful moment. Well, it was peaceful until Shawn let out a huge snore. Dean rolled his eyes and shook Natalie awake first.

She groaned, sat up, and blinked up at him blaringly, trying to process what is going on. Her eyes cleared as understanding and realization flooded in. She stretched, rolling her neck, and glanced at Shawn. Nathalie reached over and shook him gently, gaining no response. She tried again, this time harder.

"Go ahead, I'll wake him," Dean said finally after more failed attempts.

She cocked her head as if asking, "Are you sure?" and he nodded. She stood up and grabbed her and Shawn's small bags, exiting the cockpit with only one look back.

Dean scanned the surrounding area and saw that it was deserted. Patrick was gone too.

Dean sat down in the seat that Nathalie was occupying before. She poked Shawn's shoulder and cheek.

"WB, wake up," he said softly.

Gaining the same response Nathalie got from trying to shake him wake, he took matters into his own hand and lifted one of muffs carefully and yelled in Shawn's ear.

"HEY WB, WAKE UP! WE HAVE ARRIVED!"

WB jumped high and socked Dean in the face, causing him to fall to the ground and let go of the muff. Shawn moved his head around, starting to panic and reaching for the two items restricting his two of his senses, but Dean had already recovered and stilled those hands. He pulled lightly on Shawn's jacket, pulling him up and leading him off the plane into the lobby, meeting up with the other two.

"I got him," said Dean, grasping a confused and still tired Shawn.

Nathalie studied them.

"How did you wake him up?"

Dean smiled.

"I yelled in his ear."

"You yelled in his… you know what? I don't even want to know."

She glanced around the surrounding area.

"Now, where is our ride? Well, I am assuming they sent us someone. We can always take a taxi."

Patrick glanced around and spotted a sign reading, "NYPD," in an officer's possession.

"I think that's it," he said, pointing out the man. "That rookie's sign says NYPD. If that isn't us, I don't who else that is for."

"Okay, let's go."

Nathalie grabbed her and Shawn's bags and started heading toward the officer. Patrick glanced down at his stuff and looked up at Dean.

"Are we going to stop at a hotel first or we're just going straight to the station?"

Dean shrugged ad Patrick bent down, grabbing Dean's bags along with his.

"You lead Shawn. I'm carrying your stuff."

The men ran to catch up to Nathalie who was nearing the rookie. Said rookie was glancing around, looking bored, and his eyes landed on them. He studied them and then his eyes continued wandering the room. As they grew nearer, he focused on them again and frowned, an annoyed and irritated look passed over his face.

Officer Charles Reagans's POV

Reagans stood near the doors, waiting for the NYPD's star team to arrive. He glanced at his watch impatiently. The plane should have landed by then but no one has approached him yet. His "NYPD" sign was in plain sight, obvious to anyone walking by. He stood there studying the crowd as people exited the plane. The crowd thinned out and the few stragglers rushed off except for two people, a man and a woman. They seemed to be waiting for someone because they kept glancing back at the plane. Reagans continued scan the area. He turned looked to look back at the plane and saw the man and woman heading toward him with two new additions. The fair-haired one was holding on to the dark-haired man with the shades and headphones on, almost like he was leading him. Reagans studied them. They all were wearing fine suits, had luggage and all in all looked professional if it wasn't for the sneakers they were wearing.

_Weird bunch of crazies most likely and maybe they stole those suits too, _he mused.

He looked away.

_Where are they? They should have gotten off by now._

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was the weird group from before. They were heading right at him at a fast pace. He frowned.

_What do they want?_

They stopped in front of him and he scowled. An upset and wary expression passed over the woman's face.

"Hello," the woman said. She seemed to be the leader of the group.

"Hello, can I help you with something?" Reagans asked impatiently.

Confusion spread through the group. They exchanged glances and the black-haired man gestured toward his sign, sending quick whispers to the woman.

"Aren't you our ride?" she asked after sending speeded responses back to the man.

_What? I'm not a taxi driver. Can't they read my sign?_

"Your sign says NYPD," piped up the blond.

"Yah, so, what's it to you?" he shot back.

The black-haired man scowled and looked like he wanted to say something but the woman silenced him with a look.

"We're from the New York Police Department," she said slowly. "I'm Detective Franchez.

The brown-haired one said, "I'm Detective Reed."

"Detective Walkers," said the dirty-blondie.

Officer Reagans glanced at the last man who was silently looking around. As if sensing eyes on him, he stilled.

"Oh, and this is WB or Spence, choose one. Junior is reserved for the Chief only. He's a detective too," added Walkers.

"Do you have any ID or evidence of your claim?"

Franchez showed him her badge and he beckoned them to follow him. He led them to his cruiser and Franchez immediately climbed into the front. The men didn't even bat an eye as they all crowded into the back. Reagans looked back to see if they were all settled. The man, WB, was whining about not being able to function without his favorite two senses.

"What's his problem?" Reagans asked.

"Let's just say it's a form of… punishment," replied Franchez.

Dean snorted, "More like payback!"

"I've heard it both ways," Franchez shot back. "Great, now I sound like WB."

They almost drove in complete silence, except for the fact that that WB character was still complaining and Walkers started a quiet fight with Reed. Franchez was on the phone with their Chief. Reagans sighed.

"By the way, I'm Officer Charles Reagans," he said.

WB's POV

He felt the car moving and, minutes later, stop. WB was gripped be the arm, pulled out carefully, and led up a flight or two of stone stairs. He knew they passed through an entrance when he felt a blast of cold air on his face. He was aware of all the curious stares they received, practically feeling them drill into the back of his head.

_I feel like an idiot_, he thought.

Station's POV

Officer Reagans walked in, followed closely by a group of four, three men and one woman. One of the men had a pair of large headphones and dark glasses and was seemingly led by the woman. To everyone, he looked familiar. Everyone watched as the group was led into the Chief' office by Reagans, then he walked off.

Random POV

Nathalie pulled WB into the office and let him go, leaving the restrictions on still. The others filed in after her and Patrick closed the door lightly. Nathalie glanced at her watch with read 2:27. They were three minutes early. They studied the office and Patrick saw two leather seats. He pushed/lowered Shawn into one of them gently.

"Should we take them off now?" he asked.

"Sure, why not?" Nathalie said dismissively.

She collapsed in the next seat and half-watched Patrick pull off the earmuffs. When he reached for the glasses, he stopped and hesitated.

"Hey Spence, I'm going to take the glasses off. You might want to keep your eyes closed because you're not use to the light."

Patrick pulled the glasses off slowly and Shawn kept his eyes closed as suggested.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

What the assumed was the chief and two of her detectives chose that moment to walk into the room. The only male of the group closed it behind them.

"Hello, you must be the team from the…" the Chief's voice trailed off when Nathalie shifted positions to shake hands, giving everyone a full view of a blinking WB rubbing his eyes.

Shawn's Real POV

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," I answered.

After a few seconds, I opened my eyes. The lights were way too bright for my eyes and I ended up blinking rapidly, trying to adjust. I heard a door open and close in a span of seconds.

_A person or small group must have entered then_, I thought.

I rubbed my eyes but froze when I heard a voice I never expected to hear again. I forced my eyes open and confirmed what I knew was true.

"Chief Vick, I see, always a pleasure."


	5. Chap 4: In The Shadows

Disclaimer:

WB: Obviously, I own EVERYTHING!

Shawn: Lies! I do!

WB: Do not!

Shawn: Do too!

WB: D-

JW: Dude! You're talking to yourself! You know that, right?

WB/Shawn: Yeah, yeah. Jesse does not own anything but original characters and plot.

Author's Note: I suck! I know. Sorry, for making you wait FOREVER! I aged too. Also, there are so many potholes in this story, they called in the construction crew... too bad, I locked them in a basement. Mwahahahahahahaha! Also, I'm going to chill with this story and make it more realistic.

Thank you all you annoying (kidding) reviewers who kept encouraging (berating) me to continue.

Sorry, I posted a Doctor Who one-shot instead of this chapter. Lol.

Chapter 4: In The Shadows

June 22, 2014

Nathalie's POV

"Chief Vick, I see, always a pleasure."

She looked between her partner and the SBPD Chief of Police. It was obvious they had a shared history, along with the two stunned detectives that entered as well. Emotions quickly ranged from restrained anger, sorrow, and indifference to mistrust.

"Mr. Spencer," the Vick greeted stiffly.

Exchanging quick glances with Dean and Patrick, she acknowledge that they noticed too. Since their boss was a part of the problem, she took point.

"Obviously, the rest of my team is missing something. I can assume you all know each other?"

Shawn stood, tense and wary. "Chief Karen Vick, Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, and Junior Detective Juliet O'Hara, he addressed them formally and by rank from highest to lowest. Taking a deep breath, he introduced them. "Meet my team, Detectives Nathalie Franchez, Dean Walkers, and Patrick Reed."

He ignored the incredulous looks, hoping they'll get over it fast. They were here for business, and he was itching to finish it to leave and go back to New York.

"You worked with them," Dean stated, guessing the truth. "Did you transfer, WB?"

"He was never a cop," Lassiter interrupted, glaring at the imposter. "Last time, I saw you, you admitted to fraud. What should stop me from arresting you now?" The detective fingered his cuffs idly.

"Statute of limitations," was all he had to say to that. He addressed his team, smiling brightly though it didn't reach his eyes. "Lovely, you brought me home." His cheery exterior dropped. "I ran away," he deadpanned. "Thanks," he added sarcastically.

"Was it the psychic bit?" asked Patrick suddenly from where he stood silently watching. When attention was directed toward him, he shrugged. "Lassiter said fraud. You played psychic."

Shawn wasn't even surprised. Chief Howard knew about that and his GTA. Pulling a few strings, he allowed him the chance to enroll in the Academy. Of course, his partners looked him up. He had done the same. That was how he had found them. The "psychic" turned detective nodded.

"I thought I recognized the Irish hairline," Dean joked, trying to ease the tension that simmered in the air.

Nathalie shifted, uncomfortable. "So, we are all acquainted and the truth is out. Now, what?"

"Now, we get pass the fact that, yes, I am a detective. What rank? Head Detective. Where? NYPD. How? My awesomeness. Why are we here? Scorpion. Just saying," he finished.

Juliet was oddly quiet, standing slightly behind her partner, as if using him as a shield. He noticed that she hadn't stopped watching him since they walked in.

The Chief spoke up. "Head Detective?"

He winked, but it wasn't with his usual playfulness. That was when they started noticing the differences. Their pseudo psychic changed. He was tailored, more professional... tamed.

"That's just not right," Lassiter muttered.

A ghost of a smirk passed over Shawn's lips. "Sorry to burst your bubble."

"WB?"

He sighed, reluctant to meet her eyes, so he chose to focus on the old glass fish that decorated the Chief's desk. "Nickname. It's lame." He stuck out his tongue at his team. "No offense, guys." He stood, taking his place at their sides. That's where he belonged. This was his NYPD team of joyful hard workers. "So, Scorpion?"

"We can't possibly be working with him. He's a fraud," Lassiter protested.

His glare was intense and dark. "I'm a detective, and this is my case."

"They'll hate me."

After a few things were cleared up, they were ready to call a debriefing. Shawn had hung back with his team, holding out a hand to stop them.

"Why?" asked his junior detective.

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Natalia. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I lied to them for years and then ran."

"Well, you don't have to be sarcastic about it," she reprimanded hotly. "What do you think, boys?"

They shrugged.

"So helpful, you lot are," she muttered, before sending him a helpless look. They had the decency to look sheepish.

"Mr. Spen-"

"Detective," he snapped, proud of his title. It was rude, but he didn't care. He felt a gentle yet warning hand squeeze his shoulder. "Yes, Chief Vick?" he amended.

"I need to introduce your team, _Detective_ Spencer."

"Do you think that is the best idea? I mean, this is a delicate case, and we need the full cooperation and support of the officers and detectives working on it. My known presence might disrupt that."

She gazed at him, finding logic in his predicament. Excluding the ones closest to him, though they were all still affected, many of her precinct's occupants openly mistrusted the pseudo psychic. "What do you propose?"

WB's face scrunched up in contemplation. "Ghost consultant." When he was met with confused faces, he elaborated. "It's similar to a ghost writer, someone who writes the story but isn't identified or credited." He shrugged. "It could work. Natalia claims lead, and I stay in the shadows."

"And if someone asks?"

He winked. "I'm sure you'll come up with something."

The Chief took her place by the projection screen, standing regally before her subjects. At a raise of her hand, the room was silent. Their queen was to be heard.

"As you may be aware of, we were sent a team that would assist us in the Scorpion case. Both the NYPD and the SBPD will be working in tangent, none having authority over the other." She swept to the side gracefully, allowing the stage to her guests, choosing a peasant's position by her two detectives. "I will allow them to introduce themselves."

The NYPD team stepped forward sans one member. The missing yet unknown leader sat aside, out of the public's view, cap slung low as he watched the proceedings quietly.

The junior NYPD detective spoke up for them. "Hello, this is my team from the NYPD Precinct 11. I am Detective Nathalie Franchez."

The emerald eyed, brooding male raised a hand to attract their attention. "Detective Patrick Reed."

Following up, the dirty blond one of the group bowed theatrically, rising up with a dazzling grin. "And I am Detective Dean Walkers." He winked. "At your service."

Shawn groaned, mirroring Nathalie's reaction accurately from where she stood in the spotlight. She heard a growl from behind, which was stifled out quickly.

"Another Spencer," the source of the previous menacing sound complained, hushed by his young partner.

"Where is he anyways?"

Nathalie smirked. "For this case, my team has no previous experience, so we will all be looking at it with fresh eyes. We brought the files NYPD has on this case. Chief?" she addressed the most authoritative figure. "Is the scene still active?"

At a head shake, she sighed. "We'll work with the photos and autopsy report then."

The projector was turned on, and slowly she lead them through the facts. Scorpion was a unknown subject, UnSub, who had four murders under his/her belt, now five. His/Her MO was one effective blow to the heart with a dagger. If, somehow, the person wasn't killed instantly, they would bleed out fast. His/Her name was due to an image of the insect carved next to the victim, whether it be in wood or dirt. The detectives who had worked the case were either dead or retired, so it was up to the "youngsters" to catch the psychopath.

The profile was limited. The scene was cleaned up after, excluding the blood and body. He/She was considered conscious, organized, and calculating. All his/her victims were ages 23 to 27, so he/she was said to be around the same age, but since its been 12 years, that put him/her in his late thirties, early forties.

No DNA, no witnesses, no mistakes.

Victims: Angela Golding, Tommy Saul, Henry Chambers, Samantha Cole, and the newest, Ken Smith.

He/She killed once a week, always a Tuesday. It was assumed the days without death were for observation. Since, Mr. Smith was murdered two days ago, they had five days until the next death.

"Mr. Smith's family was already interviewed," Juliet informed. "We have the notes."

"Can we move to a conference room?" asked Patrick. "We need to get WB involved."


End file.
